


Sin City Sanctuary

by Linyah



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Romance, Science Fiction, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linyah/pseuds/Linyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A war is being waged.</p><p>The rich and powerful take what they want, do what they want, when they want. But when their greed is taken too far, the citizens of lower society are the ones to pay for it. So, when the people turn to the powerhouses of the underground world, the seven ruling gangs band together to create an anti-establishment coalition known as The Syndicate.</p><p>But when I- the young leader of the “Wrath” division- am caught and sent to jail, my subordinates are wiped out by assassins hired by Upper Society, and whispers of a traitor within The Syndicate spread throughout the city.</p><p>“Hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned,” and I'm just dying to get revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****

  
Act 1 Scene 1  
Introducing Ira

 

**

Forty weeks.

It has been forty weeks. 

**

The sound of someone entering the room barely registers within my mind as I struggle to stay conscious. The metal door is shut, and they remove the water soaked rag from my face. The sound of my own heaving is deaf on my ears as I attempt to rid the obstructions within my windpipe. They sit me up properly and prepare for the next round.

 ****

 **

Forty weeks since I was first captured.

Forty weeks since my division was slaughtered. 

**

I don't register the person's face at first. Their demands go unanswered as I stop struggling and fall into unconsciousness. My salvation is short lived though. I am pulled back when pain erupts across my face. He smacked me it seems. 

**

Forty weeks I've been stuck here. 

Forty weeks I've been in this hell. 

**

"Tell us where he is." His voice is stern and unmoving; cold and uncaring. "If you don't, we'll just have to go back to burning." He pauses briefly and gives a small smirk. "And it looks like you've run out of space on your back. We'll have to move on to that pretty face of yours." 

Looking up through my haze, I barely recognize the man to be the old interrogator; his new, young, protégé at his side. I recall that his previous protégé is still recovering after I threw him out the window when he got too close for comfort. They've kept me restrained after that.

"Come on," the young man speaks up this time. "We've been at this for weeks. You must be tired. You tell us what we need to know and all of this ends today." 

**

Forty weeks of this shitty good cop-bad cop routine. 

Forty weeks.

Forty God forsaken weeks. 

**

"Who're you looking for?" I hear myself say. These are the only words I've used since I've been here. It is automatic by now. My sight is hazy, and I can’t focus on the men in front of me. The bright lights above me barely make me aware of my surroundings. Oh, that’s right. This is the interrogation cell.

The men groan in unison. The older man, his name forgotten from my memory, slam his hand on the desk that separates him from me. "You know who! We've been through this hundreds of times already! I'm getting real tired of your shit!" Pulling out his hand gun, the older male positions it towards me. "Tell me now, or I make you look like Swiss cheese," he cocked his weapon. "Hole by stinkin' hole." 

The young man, his name never introduced to me, looks taken aback. "Sir…" He turns away from me so I won’t see his face, and scolds the older man in a hushed tone. “That’s not protocol!” 

The older man reels back, his brows furrow and his eyes narrow. “Shut up! There is no protocol here!” The older man stood, pushing the younger man out of the way before marching in my direction. My scalp burns with a dull fire as he grabs a fist full of my hair, violently pulling me to face him. Without a second thought, the man presses the barrel of his gun against the center of my forehead. I can feel it shaking against me painfully as if he were trying to hold himself back. 

“TELL ME! TELL ME WHERE ACEDIA IS!” 

I look past the metal weapon. It is no interest of mine. Slowly gaining my bearings, I eye the room. It feels familiar. There are no windows, only sound proof walls. There is one door with a card scanner to get in and out. My eyes flutter to the ceiling. One black, glass, globe remains attached above us. A camera.

The men follow my line of sight. I can hear the man growl within his chest and gnash his teeth together like an animal. Throwing my head back, he releases his hold on my hair to take quick aim at the globe. With a spout of profanities, he shot off his weapon.

BOOM! 

Shards and machine parts fly through the air like falling stars, giving way to smoke and sparks. 

“Sir! What are you doing?! This can’t possibly be admissible to—“The young man leans in my direction but instantly halts when his superior takes aim at him.

“I told you to shut up!” The young man is easily thrown against the wall, his head snapping back in, what looks to be, a painful way. It seems the older man is stronger than he's been letting on. The young man slumps to the floor, dazed by the turn of events.

“I’ve had this bitch in this room since we first caught her! I’m tired of this shit!” 

He returns to my side, gripping my neck tightly in his large hand. Craning my neck to meet him face to face, I can see him fairly clearly. His nostrils flare, and his eyes burn with hatred. He is similar to every other cop I have met in my life. The stress is written all over his face with the many wrinkles that litter around his eyes, forehead, and mouth. I stop registering his words, only focusing on the way his lips move and how his saliva spray over my face as they do. The way he speaks, the way he looks at me; I can tell his heart has hardened long ago.

The man once again shoves the weapon in my face. He spouts more words, words that I cannot hear.

The young man on the floor struggles to stand, a look of panic on his face. He calls out to his senior despite his obvious pain. 

The gun stops shaking as the older man hardens his resolve. He’s going to kill me right here. My time in this world is coming to an end quickly. These good for nothing, poor excuses for human beings, are actually going to win, and I did nothing to stop it. Guilt bubbled up within my chest as I stare down the barrel of this gun. His grip tightens. This is it. I wasn't able to save anyone. He levels it at my forehead. Not even myself. 

**

Everyone…I’m so sorr- 

**

 

BANG!

 

Blood sprays across the floor and stains my orange jumpsuit. It’s warmth quickly disperses, leaving the crimson liquid cold. 

Feeling my heart pound in my chest, I peer through my lashes at the man in front of me. 

The blood isn’t my own?

A great howl echoed through the small cell, deafening what hearing I have left from the gunshots. 

The older man crumples within himself, throwing out a string of curse words before turning towards his assailant. The young man, with eyes wide, presses himself against the wall, his arms outstretched as he still holds his weapon out. Realizing what he has done, he drops it, confusion written across his face.

“S-S-Sir! I’m so-sorry! I don’t kn- know…I don’t…” 

“Ungrateful piece of shit!” The older man, his hand a bloody mess, picks up the fallen weapon with his other and points it at the younger. 

BANG!

He misses. 

The young man puts his arms up in a feeble attempt to defend himself. 

The older man adjusts his aim and shoots again.

BANG!

This time the bullet hits its mark and the young man is sent careening back into the wall. Crimson seeps through the sleeve of his crisp, white, shirt. Gripping his wound, he scrambles across the floor for his gun, shelter, anything.

The older man adjusts his aim again. 

Feeling a familiar panic set within my chest, I clench the muscles within my arms. I can feel them burn with a familiar tension, and I let it consume my mind. I need to build it up. Faster. Faster. My arms are shaking now, the tension almost unbearable. I can feel the burning stem from within my biceps and spread through the other muscles like a virus. My arms aren't building up enough momentum. My muscles are already tired from being starved and restricted to this chair for so long. I'm not going to make it to full power in time.

He cocks the gun back once more. He's going to end this young man’s life without a qualm. I can see it in his eyes. The old man’s resolve is familiar. He has a resolve to kill whoever and whatever is in the way of his objective. He reminds me of me. 

Feeling my arms tense painfully, I can no longer contain the force within me. The world seems to stop spinning when I let this familiar power fly free. Thrusting my arms downwards, I push the built up force against the arms of the metal chair making them bend. One more push and I am able to snap them free of the rest of the seat, enabling my arms to move once more. With the energy now gone from my body, the world returned to normal. The change of speed felt amazingly nostalgic, and I am reminded of my identity. My confidence and determination building, I set my sights on the man before me. 

Noticing my movement at the corner of his eye, the interrogator makes a move to turn my way, but he is too slow. He is no longer conditioned for battle. He no longer understands the way of fighting. He no longer holds a will to fight; a will to live. He seeks only revenge. He seeks only wrath...

Winding my arm back, I send my palm forward, striking the man's protruding belly with great force.

...and wrath shall he receive. 

He too is sent flying across the room, similar to his protégé. His flight is cut short when he collides violently with the wall. His weapon is forgotten on the floor as he tries to regain his bearings, but I am too fast. 

I hear the young man yell for me to stop when I stand. Ripping against the binds on my wrists, I tear away the metal arms and throw them at the young man when he points his gun at me. His weapon falls from his hands when he is struck. 

Ridding myself of the rest of the chair, I am swiftly in front of the interrogator, my hand over his chest. 

"Tell me, old man." I roll up my sleeve to reveal my slender forearm. The symbol S7 in bold font is tattooed on the inside of my palm. "Do you have a family?" 

When he doesn't respond, I hover my palm over his heart. It beats erratically in fear of what I might do. "You should speak up, it might just save your life." 

"...Y-yes. I...I have a family." His heart skips a beat. 

Giving a half-hearted smile, I clench the muscles within my arm once more. The young man yells for me to stop again. He struggles to get up and rush in my direction to pull me away from his superior. He is eager to save this man's life. Too bad his charity is wasted on such an unworthy soul. 

The world stops for a second time as I release the pressure. 

"Liar."

My arm plunges through the man's chest, past his rib cage, and into his heart. 

He sputters nonsense, bracing himself against me. With three wheezing breaths, he departs from this world, leaving behind any discontent he harbored during his life. 

Dislodging my arm from his carcass, I let his body fall unceremoniously to the floor. Crimson pools around him from his gaping wound, staining the floor, and drenching my arm. My dominant arm hangs uselessly against my side, tired and overworked. The muscles spasm in aftershocks of the tension. Blinking dully, my attention is drawn to the black weapon beside him. It no longer has an owner. It is orphaned. Taking pity upon it, I pick up his hand gun with my only working hand and aim it at the protégé. He sits slumped on the floor gripping his arm, his own blood now collecting beneath him. 

His cerulean eyes look at me with desperation and fear. No, not fear. It isn't desperate either. What is this? Contempt? Anger? No. Confusion, perhaps? He looks confused and cornered... but not defeated. He has not lost his will to fight despite the death of his comrade, despite his obvious helplessness. His strong will feels like fuel within me. I had long forgotten what pure, untainted, strong, will looked like. 

"What's your name?" My voice is soft but stern.

He looks me in the eyes, his blue irises reminding me of fresh, clean, water. He doesn't answer me right away, probably waiting for me to do away with him. No, such a strong spirit doesn't deserve to be dispatched so early in its life. Especially not by me. I refuse to add such innocence to my long list of deceased. Innocence is, after all, hard to come by in this city.

"...Phoenix. M-my name is Phoenix."

Too tired to dispute whether or not that was his actual name; I motion for him to get up. 

"Phoenix,” I test his name on my tongue. “You should get up, Mr. Phoenix. Someone will be here soon to clean up this mess.” Lowering my weapon, I stuff it into my jumpsuit. "Unfortunately, that now includes you." 

 

**

Forty weeks is long enough.

It is finally time to leave this place. 

**


	2. Chapter 2

**

Act 1 Scene 2  
-My Name is Ira-

**

 

I roll down my sleeve to hide the bloody mess from sight. Biting my bottom lip, I feel the skin burst from the tremendous pressure. Bright crimson dribbles down my chin as consequence, and I can feel the punctured flesh swell up in defense. If the way I feel is of any indication in the way I look, it won't take much else to make it look like I've been roughed up. It may be the only way out of here. Running my hand through my hair with a sigh, I eye the dead body strewn on the floor. 

"We need to move him behind the door. If someone finds him while we're still in the building, they'll catch us before we can make it out." Grasping the back of the dead man's collar, I check the weight with a small tug to see if my arm can handle the task. When the appendage does nothing more than give a dull throb, I look towards the bleeding young man. "Grab his legs." 

He mutters something I cannot hear and refuses to look at me at first. Instead, he paces about the small room; his face is a sickly pale. He turns sharply; his eyes are dark with disgust in me and himself. Dark hollows beneath his eyes are developing quickly with every second that we stand in stalemate. The guilt of his decisions must be eating him from within.

"I said," his voice is more stable than he looks. I can see the pieces of his mind collect together to make sense of his duty as an officer as he commands, "Put your hands in the air." He raises his pistol in my direction with one arm.

I stare the man down, noting the dwindling amount of time we have left before we are caught. There will be no way out of this place should I be restrained once more. I can feel the adrenaline slowly beginning to drain from my veins, taking my strength with it. The fighting spirit has been rekindled within me once more, and I remember all those who rely on me. And should my body collapse before they are free, should I be restrained once more, it would sell my fate and the fate of so many souls over to the upper-world to do with as they wish. 

"Now!" He is strong once more, this man named Phoenix. This one innocent soul, so misconstrued as to what the truth is, is what blocks my path.

"We don't have time--"

"There is no "we"! The only relationship between us is interrogator and detainee!"

His frantic reaction will not do. His breathing is ragged and his nerves make him shake. Should he stay in this broken state of mind, he is more likely to shoot me. I need to talk him down.

"Do you plan to kill me, Mr. Phoenix?" 

His brows furrow further, and sweat drips down his face from the strain. His breathing steadies as he collects himself and tries to come up with the right words. The same words he must have rehearsed during all his years in training. He hesitates for a moment before answering.

"I...I don't want to, but I will if I have to. Just slide that gun in my direction, and keep your hands where I can see them. I don't want to hurt you, Ira."

Something inside me breaks, and I am rushed with a new familiarity. That's right...My name is Ira. It has felt like eons since this name has been said in my presence. It was given to me all those years ago when this war first began. The upper world took this identity from me when they brought me in. 

Raising my sub-dominant hand slowly, I take the gun out of my jumper under the man's careful supervision. He nods, telling me to slide it over; his body still tense with apprehension. 

But instead of doing what he wants, I level the gun at him. "I admire your mercy, but you should have shot me when you had the chance. Do you think you can pull your trigger before I pull mine?" It is an empty threat I realize. I swore, long ago, never to kill an innocent. I can feel my right arm squeeze painfully as a consequence of my attack earlier, and I wince slightly, hopefully not noticeable to the other party. "I will leave this building, Mr. Phoenix. Preferably with your co-operation." 

"I can't let you out on the streets again. I'll keep you here, even if it kills me." He stands his ground boldly against me. Innocents are so easily manipulated. Give them one reason to believe you're their salvation, and they will entrust their lives to you. Brainwash. It is how Upper-Society has kept their control for so long.

"You shouldn't be so eager to give your life. Had I wanted you dead, you would be." Lowering my weapon, I try to reason with him. "I won't kill the man who saved my life. If you choose not to come with me, you can remain here on your own. But I warn you, the Upper-Society doesn't take kindly to rebels. I cannot help you once they take you."

"What are you talking about?...What Upper-Society? What do you mean by take me?" He does not lower his weapon, but his strength wavers slightly. He is receptive but is ignorant of the real war waging inside these city boundaries. Are all Innocents this naïve? 

Before I can make an effort to explain, a knock vibrates through the door. Phoenix and I look at each other before turning to face it. A tense silence keeps us frozen. Time has run out. 

The mechanical lock beeps in approval as the person on the other side swipes their identity card through. I take aim at the door this time, wary as it is pushed open. I hadn’t anticipated back up to arrive this fast. 

“Excuse the intrusion, Sir. But reception from the camera has—“ The woman halts her speech when she spots the stalemate. When I lay my eyes on her, a cold chill runs up my spine. Her presence is familiar to me from somewhere… Her brown hair is tied into a tight bun with thin rimmed glasses that rest atop the bridge of her nose. Her body is shielded from view with her ill-fitting black suit. And as her striking blue eyes drift from Phoenix, to me, then to the body, I notice that her eyes flicker with something akin to indifference before widening in horror. She then looks to Phoenix for salvation. 

“Phoenix…what is going on?” She doesn’t move, but she doesn’t make a motion to step back either. My eyes narrow when she suddenly shakes with what looks to be fear. Where have I seen her before?

“Get inside and close the door.” 

She does as I command, too quietly to be of a normal citizen. Even her foot steps are inaudible. 

“Ira, she has nothing to do with this!”

I don’t take my eyes off the woman, and I keep my weapon straight. The aura she emits isn’t of an Innocent at all. 

“I won’t kill you, Mr. Phoenix. But I will kill her should you not drop your weapon. I don’t owe her a life debt.” 

“Phoenix…do something…please!” She pleads to the young man, putting pressure on him. She mouths the words “shoot her”.

After a moment’s pause, I hear him drop the gun and slide it over in my direction. When he does this, the woman frowns deeply at him. Her large eyes suddenly darken and burn with unsaid hatred. She tilts her head forward, shadowing her face. 

“Everything will be fine,” the man reassures his colleague. “I’ll get us out of this. Don’t worry.” 

I grit my teeth when she sighs and looks up at me with narrow, icy blue, eyes. 

“Innocent’s, right?” The adrenaline spikes through me as I realize just who she is. Her voice is higher now. It is light, with a soft accent that can’t quite be determined. She pulls at her scalp to remove the brown wig from her head. Shining blonde hair falls in its place. “They can’t do anything you tell them to.” 

When she tilts her head up once more, her body language is tall and reeks with power. Her confidence rolls off her in waves as her personality take a drastic turn from what she was like a few seconds prior. A feral grin spreads across her face like a prowling wildcat.

“C-Celeste?” The young man calls. He looks from her to me in confusion.

“She’s not who you think she is.” I back up slowly and move towards the unarmed interrogator. 

The woman brings her hand to her lips in mock surprise. The look of amusement doesn’t leave her face. “Oh, and who am I then?” 

I glare at the woman, hatred pouring from me. She was among those who slaughtered my division; my family. She was the first one to attack, soon followed after by the other wretched beings like her.

“You’re the one they call Barachiel, the Archangel of Lightning...” I cock my weapon back and prepare to fire. “You’re an assassin of Upper-Society.” 

**BANG!**


	3. Chapter 3

**

Act 1 Scene 3  
-Alliance with Ira-

**

"Pick it up! Pick it up!" I usher, kicking the gun back at Phoenix as quickly as I can. I am careful not to take my eyes off the woman before me. "Pick it up!" 

My shot doesn't hit its mark, but it does well to distract the blonde. She holds her hands to her ears to block out the loud echo of the gun. Just my luck, of all the fucking Archangels to be sent, it’s Barachiel. If my slow brain recalls properly, she is the swiftest of the seven. I bite the inside of my cheek in aggravation. How are we supposed to out run her?

"Put it down, pick it up; make up your mind!" The young man finally has enough of me and throws the biting comment in my direction. Although, not before doing what I tell him, I note. 

"Now, now, Ira. Leave the Innocent out of this. They’re all quite useless, really. Although…" She eyes him like a piece of meat. “I’ve been meaning to take this one for a joy ride before I kill him.” Her flippant attitude makes me bristle. I forgot how much I loathe her and those like her. My blood begins to boil within my veins as she makes a move to step forward. I adjust my aim and fire off another round. 

BANG!

The woman purses her lips together, taking her time to pull her hands away from her ears. I didn’t even see her shield them for the second time. Has she gotten faster, or have I slowed down during the time I spent here? 

“You’re still a poor shot. Don't you want to hear what I have to say before trying to kill me? Not that you could, in any case, but that's beside the point. Anyway, I’ve been sent here--” 

I cock it back again. 

BANG!

Another miss. Damn it! 

She pulls her hands away for the third time and continues on unperturbed. “—because the big man upstairs thinks it’s time to make an example of you. It’s time to make you disappear. Well, not really disappear. They’ll find your body.”

Phoenix tenses beside me and keeps a solid grip on his weapon. He aims it at her, much to my relief, and furrows his brows in confusion. He’s unable to make sense of this scenario, no doubt. “What are you talking about? Who are you?!” 

“Not now, Hun. Killing Ira takes full priority,” Barachiel turns to the young man with a quirked brow. A pulse of electricity runs through the atmosphere, and before the man can blink, she is already before him with a finger to his lips. She shushes him softly. “You’ll _come_ after~”

Phoenix stumbles back with a strangled cry and fires a shot in her direction out of reflex. He catches her off guard as it shoots past her face and through her hair. Blonde strands go flying. The gash across her porcelain cheek from where the bullet grazed begins to bleed; a trail of crimson moves towards her neck. Barachiel’s eyes are wide as she looks past Phoenix in a stunned stupor. 

_Oh no._

The woman brushes shaky fingers against the wound, and brings her hand forward to inspect the damage. Her fingers are stained red. 

_No. No. No._

I pump my leg muscles, letting them contract painfully. I quake, quietly eyeing the woman as she frowns. My exhausted muscles scream at me to discontinue, but I ignore them. The power builds up significantly slower than I remember it taking. Where I’d normally be at full power by now, I’m barely even close to half. 

Barachiel, abruptly snapping from her inertness, forms a fist. At our close proximity, I feel the electricity tickle my skin as she prepares to attack. 

“How dare you! You marred my beautiful face! How dare you!” I feel the electricity heighten and see her muscles tense. “USELESS!”

I snap my legs into action, releasing the pressure built within me in attempt to beat her to the punch. The power makes me disappear briefly from sight as I flash forward with new found speed. Barachiel is soon to follow after me as she too releases her power. She is faster than me, but not by much. 

With my inability to charge the pressure properly in my legs, I feel a sharp pain shoot through my right thigh as I take a step forward. The pain disturbs my rhythm, and I stumble, attempting to recover. My knees buckle, unable to sustain my weight and the pressure of the new speed. My body can’t handle the stress anymore. 

Barachiel’s fist is raised, poised to throw at the unsuspecting man. She reels back her arm. At her velocity, she will shatter his skull with little effort. I’ve seen her do it before…

I launch myself with a strangled cry. I catch her around the waist with my good arm, and we are sent careening into the wall. Our impact shakes the room with a loud crash. Falling to the floor in a hiss, I break away from the blonde woman to feel for my right leg. Hot tears well up in my eyes as pain eats through my appendage like magma. It isn’t broken, but something isn’t right. 

I can hear movement from beside me. Turning, I see Barachiel pulling herself from the crater in the wall where we hit. Pieces of concrete and soundproofing material are dislodged, falling to her feet. 

The memory of a familiar voice rings through my head in warning. 

_Rule number one when encountering an Archangel: avoid close range at all cost._

My heart skips a beat when I see Barachiel set her sights on me. She sways on her feet slightly, but can still move with a bit of effort. Her hair falls over her face, matted with debris and blood. Her face is contorted into an aggressive snarl. Electricity pulses through the room once more. 

_Fuck._

Flipping onto my stomach, I clumsily scramble to move away and push myself up as fast as I can. I put weight on my injured leg once more in desperation of trying to get away. It is a poor choice it seems, as it fails to support me and I fall once more. 

Barachiel easily takes advantage of my handicap. She disappears from sight briefly as she uses her speed to launch herself into the air. Air leaves my lungs as she drops on my back feet first, combining the use of gravity and amplified strength all at once. Stomping on the back of my head with her heel, my neck snaps forward and my forehead cracks against the concrete floor painfully. I lose my sight briefly; my vision goes black upon impact. 

She sees my eyes roll into the back of my head and purses her lips unhappily. She kneels, still on top of me, with one knee between my shoulder blades and the other on the small of my back. Tapping my cheek, she gives an airy chuckle. 

“Common, Ira. Stay awake now.”

My eyelids flutter open. At first I’m in a daze but I’m quick to remember the severity of the situation and thrash against her. It’s too late. Once she sees I’m fully responsive, she pulls my unresponsive arm behind my back in a hold that could break it. But knowing the Archangel, she’d much rather tear it clean off. 

“Shh, Ira. Shh. I change my mind. You need to stay awake so you can see me crack your precious Innocent’s head open.” She tugs at my appendage, making me cry out. “Then after you have that engraved into your brain, I’ll tear you apart. Limb from limb!” She gives off a maniacal laughter I had only heard once before. Her breath is hot on the back of my neck now as she mocks me. “Slowly~” 

She pulls harder now, and I’m sure I can feel the tendons tearing as they try to keep my appendage together. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. The taste of copper coats my tongue.

_Limbs aren’t meant to bend this way. Limbs aren’t meant to bend this way. Limbs aren’t meant to bend this way._ I chant in my head as to keep my mind of the buckling of my bones. I hear them click as they are pushed to their limits. She’s prolonging the pain. I know it. She’s doing it to torture me. She’s doing it to enforce her power over me. My throat is dry, and it is hard to breathe. I’m breaking out into a cold sweat, and my eyes feel like they are about to burst from the overwhelming pressure of her weight on my back. I won’t last much longer. My consciousness flickers in and out. 

“Barachiel, or whatever your name is!” Phoenix’s voice cuts through my mental fog enough to register that he caught the woman’s attention. 

The sound of something being sprayed is heard. It is followed by an overwhelmingly spicy scent and Barachiel’s horrified scream. Her weight is thrown off me and I am picked up into the arms of another. 

“Ira! Ira!” I force my eyes open to look at the voice which calls to me. Phoenix, not taking his eyes off the writhing form of the Archangel, notices my response and slings my good arm over his shoulders. He pulls me up along with him as he stands. Rushing over to the door, he fishes out his identity card and unlocks it. With one last look at the thrashing woman, we’re out the door, closing it behind us. 

“I have a feeling I’m in the dark about something. What’s going on?” Phoenix mumbles just loud enough for me to hear. He looks down at me as we stumble through the empty hall in our haste to escape. His hazel eyes meet mine briefly before looking forward again. 

My voice comes out hoarse as I answer his question.

“I’ll fill you in if we get out of this alive.”


	4. Chapter 4

****

**Act 1 Scene 4  
Escaping with Ira**

We rush down the strangely silent hall of the interrogation hall as fast as our legs could take us. The sound of our footfalls bounce back to us in a softer echo, urging us on to find salvation. My bony arm digs into his shoulders as he takes some of my weight upon him. It's easy to see the discomfort it causes him with every step we take. He doesn't bother to mention it though, simply readjusting my weight every so often. Before long, we make it to the first obstacle; a locked door. I observe the door in a mixture of grief and anger. In the state I'm in, I won't be able to break through it-- I briefly look over Phoenix's body before glaring back at the locked door-- and by the looks of it, neither will he.

Leaning me up against the wall, Phoenix rubs the back of his neck to soothe the ache. I watch as he pulls out a bloodied key card from his pocket and hastily wipes it over his pant leg in an attempt to clear away the crimson residue. Upon closer inspection, I realize that a picture of Barachiel is attached to it instead of him. When had he swiped the her key-card? 

Returning my arm to its original resting place around him, Phoenix turned to me with a serious expression over his face. "Okay," he whispered whilst adjusting my weight so I could stand upright whilst leaning on him. "There are guards on duty just beyond this hall block, there should be at least one person here who can help us." 

Without waiting for my consent, the young brunet swipes the key through the lock. The resounding buzz alerts us of the door being unlocked, and the man leads me into the hall. Phoenix's grip on my waist and wrist grow almost painful as the door locks behind us. He hesitates for a brief moment, a look of uncertainty crossing his face, before he moves forward, taking me with him. 

Hopping on my one leg, I struggle to keep up with the panicked young man. His head whips around to look behind us from time to time to check if we were being chased after. No doubt the bout with Barachiel has shaken him a lot more than he wants to let on. I can't blame the young interrogator, Archangels were known as the bringers of death among the underground. When they had first arrived on the streets several years ago, they had laid waste to many of the underground population. After a while, even the Syndicate backed away from fights with the Archangels because of the overwhelming blood lust and power they harbor. I had been there to see Barachiel's handiwork in the downtown area that night. The sight of the alleyways she decorated with the blood and bodies of the homeless still continue to haunt me some nights.

I huff heavily as the consequences of my previous actions suddenly grow with intensity and bring my attention back to the scenario at hand. Sweat drips down my bloodied brow as I peek over Phoenix's shoulder and into the silent cells that housed other inmates. Surely they would wake with the sound of the buzzer from when Phoenix unlocked the door. The absence of any sound within this place makes my nerves stand on end. There isn't even a guard about to do rounds. My gaze falls onto the next locked door that we begin to approach. Something eats within me, urging me to find an exit quickly. There is something wrong within the prison. 

Phoenix makes quick work of the next door when we reach it. The buzzer goes off and we are through another obstacle. 

"Even if there is an Innocent here, they won't be able to help us." My voice wavers slightly. Even to my own ears, I don't sound well. "If Barachiel was sent to kill me, that means Upper Society has this place under their control. We're as good as dead if we get caught." 

Phoenix clenches his jaw, refusing to acknowledge my words as we move past the door into what looks to be a mesh hall. It is empty of inmates, but houses a lone guard sitting in the back corner, his head resting in his palm. 

Hope bloomed in Phoenix's eyes as he pulled me to rush over to the man. 

"Sir! Excuse me, sir! Please, I need your help!" As we near the man, it is easy to see that he isn't conscious. His deep, even breathing and closed eyes signal that he's in a deep slumber. Phoenix's brows furrow, meeting at the center of his forehead. Releasing my wrist, Phoenix takes hold of the man's shoulder instead, giving a desperate shake. "Sir!" 

But the man refuses to wake. Instead, his head falls to the table with a heavy thud. 

"This is ridiculous..." he mumbles in exasperation.

My eyes narrow slightly at the sight. No matter how deep a sleeper someone is, they shouldn't be able to withstand that type of manhandling, not unless their slumber is medically induced. 

Turning to Phoenix, I try to pull him away from the scene. "I told you, we need to get out of here. Upper Society's got this place under their control. It's already a miracle that we made it passed an Archangel."

Taking hold of my arm once more, we are off again in search of another soul. Within several minutes, we pass two other guards, one sat in the hall, the other behind an observation desk. They too are under a deep slumber. 

My nerves dance underneath my skin in warning as I watch Phoenix smack the unconscious guard in a futile attempt to wake him. But when the bird-named man stops, his attention moving to the video feeds playing across the computer screen, I can't help but try to follow his line of sight. It isn't hard to spot what he found though, for there in the bottom left screen is a lone guard walking through the hall block we had already passed, and he is headed in our direction. The young interrogator sighs in relief before pulling me back in the direction of the only other conscious man we've seen thus far in our trek. 

Moving out of the small observation room, we move into the hall just in time to watch the man unlock the heavy metal door and enter within hearing distance. The man, who now looks much lankier under closer inspection, stops when he notices us waiting for him. The light that hangs above him casts a shadow over his face with the help of his brimmed hat. 

"Excuse me, sir! Thank goodness you're here. It seems like you're the only one awake in this whole place. Please, we really need some help."

"Help?" My nerves spike at the man's puzzlingly soft voice. I can't make out his expression, but I notice his posture is lax for a man confronted with an injured Syndicate boss. 

Phoenix nods eagerly, almost happy that this guard is so receptive. "Yeah, Celeste-- I mean, a woman who was thought to be part of the interrogation group here attacked us. We need a--" 

"Oh," the man steps out from underneath the light, pulling up the lip of his hat to reveal his pale slender face. "You mean Barachiel." 

A tense silence steadies over the three of us as his words sink in. My blood runs cold, and my eyes grow wide in realization as to who this man actually is. I let out a curse underneath my breath. Since when did they start working in teams?! 

Phoenix seems to come to the same conclusion as I see the colour drain from his face. Leaning my weight onto my good leg, I break Phoenix away from me. I don't take my eyes of the lanky man when I call to Phoenix. "Dammit... Cover your nose and mouth!" 

Hobbling forward, I shield the Innocent from the guard impostor. I recognize those inky black eyes and tousle of ebony hair. As if Barachiel wasn't enough, they had to send him too...

Phoenix furrows his brows in confusion, but covers the bottom half of his face with his shirt nonetheless. "Don't tell me..."

The lanky man blinks, as if amused with your antics. 

"Yeah, another fucking Archangel. I told you Upper Society had this place locked down!" Grinding my teeth together, I pull the white t-shirt I wear beneath my jump suit over my face. 

The faintest of smiles tugs at the pale man's lips. "I am called Selaphiel, the prayer of God. It is a pleasure to meet you." His eyes drift over to me, taking another step forward. "I'm surprised you're still here, Ira. I assumed you would have tried to escape by now." 

Phoenix steps up beside me, pepper spray brandished in in hands. "You just stay over there, buddy." 

Selaphiel takes another step forward, challenging Phoenix. "Or what? Will you spray me like you did Barachiel?" Selaphiel cocks his head to the side, "I should warn you though, I quite enjoy pepper spray."

I glare at the easy-going man. "Selaphiel's the Archangel of smoke...he specializes in poisons..."

"Specifically airborne," Selaphiel interjects before straightening himself. 

"I assume that you're the one who put everyone to sleep," I continue. My voice muffled through the cloth of my cotton shirt. I take a step back, motioning for Phoenix to do the same. I swallow dryly, trying to not show my uneasiness in front of the man. Selaphiel is one of the most unreadable members of the Archangels. While Barachiel is openly unstable, at least she's readable. Everyone who had seen Selaphiel, and lived to tell the tale, knew him as the the unstable quiet type. It's near to impossible to read him. We could very well be in the middle of his attack, but we won’t know it until it’s too late. 

"Naturally," he shrugs. "A bit of sleeping gas slipped into the air vents and the whole prison's asleep. How else was I supposed to get inside?" 

"You mean you weren't in here with Barachiel to begin with?" I take another hobbled step back, wincing as I put too much pressure on my injured leg. Phoenix does well to keep up with me. 

Selaphiel cocks his head to the other side this time, still watching us from his stance near the door. "In here with Barachiel? Why would I do that? She's crazy, don't you know? If she wasn't an Archangel," a quick twitch pulled at the edge of his lip. "I'd kill her myself."

Yeah, she’s not the only one who's crazy.

Phoenix and I take another step back. After a quick glance behind me, I realize that we're close to the next exit. Phoenix and I lock glances and I give him a pointed took towards the exit behind us. His eyes are wide in anxiousness, but he nods slowly despite himself. Looks like he's not too keen with Selaphiel's company either. 

"Are you two planning to escape?" Selaphiel's words has our attentions snapping back to him. He had narrowed the distance between us through several steps in such a small amount of time....

"If you are," he blinks almost innocently. "I won't stop you." 

I warily eye the man. It was hard to tell if he was joking or not. 

"R-really?" Phoenix asks from beside me.

The pale man nods in affirmation. When he abruptly holds up his hands in surrender, Phoenix and I flinch back from what we thought was an attack. 

"It's not like Barachiel and I are partners, I was just here because I wanted to experiment my newest poison on one of the inmates. God lets me do that, y'see. He said it's alright." Selaphiel smiles at the thought, and falls into silence in his reminiscing. Shaking his head, he breaks out of his trance and regards us once more. "But when I came by, I found Barachiel rolling on the floor crying and unable to breathe. It was an amusing sight, really. I've wanted to do that to her for so long, but I can't. God doesn't like that, y'see? It's because she's one of us, he says." 

The sickening atmosphere within this hall is getting horribly thick. The archangel is oozing blood lust and dark aura in waves. Cold chills eat at my skin from his words alone. He's definitely one of the more disturbing members of the Archangels.

From beside me, I can see Phoenix's hands begin to shake. As much as he's trying to keep his composure, it's easy to see he's no match of the musings of Selaphiel's mind. Moving over, I grip his hand in mine behind my back as to shield the sight from the unstable Archangel. If Selaphiel was to see it, no doubt it would set him off into a frenzy. 

"But, yeah. You can run, I won't stop you. All the doors should still be open too from when I came in. I haven't used any poison yet, just sleeping gas so you'll be okay." When we didn't make a move to run, Selaphiel raised a brow. Then a look of realization crossed his face. "Oh! I know, you won't go because you're still afraid I'm going to run after you. It's okay, no worries. See?" He turns around and begins to walk in the other direction, covering his eyes with his hands. "I won't go after you." 

Before I can protest, Phoenix pulls my arm over his shoulders once more, mumbling a stiff thanks. Before we can make a run for it, Phoenix's curiosity gets the best of him as he looks back at the strange man down the hall. "...Why are you helping us?"

Selaphiel stops walking to take a glance at us from over his shoulder. A smile, that doesn't quite reach his eyes, spreads over his lips. "It's because you sprayed Barachiel with pepper spray. I've wanted to see that for so long. Besides, we'll kill you later anyway. It’s God’s will, y’see?" The man turns back to door in front of him, mumbling something about watching Barachiel scream some more before disappearing behind it. 

With Selaphiel gone, Phoenix and I release shaky breaths before rushing in the opposite direction. Whether Selaphiel was lying or not, I'm not sure. All I know is that he and Barachiel are on one side of the prison, and that's enough motivation to run the other way.


	5. Chapter 5

**

Act 1 Scene 5  
Running with Ira

**

 

We hobble through the rest of the prison in a haze of feverish haste, trying to put as much distance we can between us and the two inhuman beings we've had the misfortune of encountering. Although, it seems that Selaphiel had spoken the truth when he said he hadn't used any poisons. All the doors are propped open, just as he told us. The walls and barred windows are a blur of white, while unconscious guards and prisoners are left behind. They have lost their will for righteousness long ago, and no longer constitute my mercy. The prison stripped them of what innocence they had left and replaced it with a sick and infectious darkness. They aren't Innocents anymore; they aren't my priority.

Glancing at the brunet who holds me, I notice the red that stains his sleeve. He is breathing heavily now, with sweat dripping down his face, but he says nothing of his pain. He does not simply leave me to fend for myself despite his knowledge of those who hunt us. He does not dismiss all that he as seen, and instead decides to pull me forward in search for refuge. Realization finally dawns on me that he is the first Innocent I have encountered in months. 

Turning back to the open iron doors that grow closer, I nod to myself. The fire for retribution and revenge grows within my chest with every step we take to leave this place. I hear the wind beckoning for me, calling me with soft adoration. The smell of open air is sweet and nostalgic, pushing me forward with renewed vigor. 

With several struggling strides, we are through the double doors originally constructed to keep inmates in. Now these iron doors are an image of our escape, our freedom. Stepping into the open night air makes me aware of how long I've been within the confines of this building. My body is heavy, not only because of my injuries or the tense atmosphere around me, but because of the darkness that has seeped through my skin. It is a dangerous infection that isn't easily healed. Glancing briefly at the night sky, a piece of me feels renewed. It's been so long since I've seen the stars and the moon. How I've missed the vibrant colours that decorate the sky, and the cool air that chills my skin.

"This way," Phoenix ushers in a gruff voice. "My car is around the corner." He tightens his grip around me as he pulls me around the building. I am all but thrown into the passenger's seat of his silver BMW in his urgency, closing the door behind me. Slipping into the driver's seat, he fumbles for his keys. Taking the metal between shaking fingers and pressing it into the ignition, the vehicle starts. The machine roars to life with a sound that makes me tense. Compared to the silence, the engine is like thunder that disturbs the quiet air. Anxiously I look to the direction of the iron doors with bated breath. Can Barachiel hear? Does she know where we are? Is she already recovered and hunting us down? I bristle at the mere thought of encountering her once more tonight, and face forward. Buckling myself in, I give a shaky breath. Just knowing that there are two Archangels in the area make me anxious.

Phoenix buckles his seat-belt, preparing to put the vehicle in reverse when he winces suddenly, a pained hiss escaping his lips. His injured left arm slumps against the wheel while his right hand grips the gear tighter than usual. He is heaving unusually as he catches his breath, sweat dripping down his forehead. After a few heaves, he seems to regain his bearings as he pulls the gear into reverse. Sliding his injured arm into his lap and replacing it with his other arm on the wheel, he sends a pained grin my way and gives a dry chuckle. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, "I don't think I'll be able to move it anymore." 

I nod, taking pity on the man and gripping the gear without hesitation as he presses on the gas. Our escape is relying on our teamwork now, and our escape would be a faster one if Phoenix just concentrated on turning the wheel. Once we've backed up enough, I put the gear into drive and we are speeding out of the parking lot, down the open stretch of road that connects the prison to the city. Checking back through the rear window once more as we speed through the open wire gates, I almost envision the two Archangels standing inside, listening and watching. Had they heard the tires screech? Were they coming? There is no way that they were actually going to let us get away, right? Uneasiness builds up within my chest as the entrance grows smaller and smaller. Archangels aren't known for their benevolence. Perhaps this was all a bad game of cat and mouse. I don't take my eyes off the building until it is fully out of sight, and we are finally out of reach.

We race through the empty county roads, finding a main road and making it onto the expressway. Phoenix does well to steer despite his injured arm, although he grits his teeth to cope with his pain every once in a while. The drive feels long and tense, and we bristle at each car that nears us from the back. With the thought of the people inside being workers of the Upper Society come to finish us off, we can't rest easy. 

"We need to get off at the next exit," I say, my voice cracking slightly. I stare out the side window, watching as a group of teens blast past us with their music blaring. "Once we get downtown, we'll be able to ditch the car and get off the radar." 

Furrowing his brows, he purses his lips in contemplative silence before frowning and shaking his head. "We've both taken substantial injuries, we won't make it far. I'm taking us to the hospital where we can be treated and file a police report. We can get help there."

Glaring at Phoenix through the reflection in the window, I frown. "Your ignorance and poor judgement of the situation almost cost us our lives. The Upper Society has full access to the hospital and the police, there will be no refuge for us when we get there." I take his silence in stride as he makes no move to argue with me. This time my tone is less accusatory. "What do you think will happen when a known Syndicate leader and her conspirator walk into the hospital, hmm? Will we be greeted with balloons and chocolate? Will they believe your story when all the evidence says otherwise?"

Gritting his teeth, he glances at me from the corner of his eye, obviously unhappy with the truth I've spoken. "Then what do you propose we do? Find more of your gang friends and start an all out war?"

"A war has already been started long ago, and I'm sure my friends are more forgiving in this situation than most of yours would be." As we near the next exit, I turn to Phoenix to gauge his reaction. "I told you earlier that I wouldn't kill the man that saved my life. I don't plan on breaking my word, but to save your life, I'm going to need you to trust me."

I can see him thinking behind his hardened expression. He meets my gaze with his own, and after a heavy silence, he sighs. "Logically, my head says not to trust you....but you saved my life as well...so I guess I can't say that I completely distrust you." Before we can fully miss the exit, he pulls the vehicle into the off ramp and off the highway. "But since you were right about the prison, I guess I can't argue with your logic either. I don't fully understand what's going on... But I swear to God, if we run into more of those lunatics, I'm blaming you," he grumbles sourly. 

"I'll keep that in mind," I chuckle dryly, a bit unsure whether he intends it as a joke or not.

Seeing the bright lights of the downtown area glow in the distance, a bitter, lopsided smirk crosses over my face. The battle field waits up ahead, welcoming us with the sounds of loud music, laughter, and drunken conversation. I was finally going to return to my world, my sanctuary, and the people I call my family. I have been bestowed a second chance at life, and I don't plan on wasting it. Through the haze of pain and anxiety, I laugh with genuine glee. It is as if I have returned from the dead, born anew, and the feeling is almost euphoric.

The air of change is knocking at our door, I can feel it in my bones.


	6. Act 1 Scene 6: Hiding With Ira

Bright lights and neon signs illuminate the cold and murky streets. People dressed in bright colours litter the sidewalks, bars, and clubs. Bodies move together like one entity, pulsing and moving in accordance to the strange symphony created through the echoes of music, voices, and traffic. Seconds of drifting into this space bombarded with the euphoric atmosphere that engulfs the downtown area, it is easy to see why many of the underground population take shelter here. The smell of alcohol taints the air like a fog, and courses through the veins of people like an infection; it does well to mask the smell of innocence. The sea of bodies hide well the identities of many people who would more than likely fall prey to Upper Society assassins. For this reason, I hobble through the sea of bodies with the young interrogator trailing behind me.

My dirty orange jump suit hangs off my waist, tied and rolled to look like a pair of loose pants. The blood stained white shirt that clings to my upper body, is disguised by the pulsing coloured lights and shadows of nightfall in the downtown. I move with the crowds, shadowing behind different traveling groups to not garner attention to myself by them or any other prying eyes that may be lurking among them. 

The downtown area is the battle ground where members of the Underground society and the assassins of Upper society play a deadly game of cat and mouse. The downtown is known as Middle-ground, it is where members of society, regardless of status, go to lose themselves within the euphoric atmosphere, if only for a night. The owners of the establishments in the area care little for the status of their patrons. Many of the owners are middle to high class, and are safe from the Upper society because of their high income. They are considered worthy of life. 

But there are those like me who are unable to conform to society. Whether it be due to bad luck, a divorce gone wrong, or inability to find a job, once a person finds themselves considered as an “eye sore” by upper society, they become targets of the assassins as part of a city wide cleanup. A secret cleanup of course, hidden from the middle class like a dirty lie. The man up top wanted to create a utopia of sorts, and began implementing secret plans behind the scenes of the politics of it all. He created such a bullet proof façade for the general society to soak in, that even if we of the Underground were to out this grave injustice to the world, we would just be tossed aside. No one would believe that this slaughter would be created by our _great_ and _benevolent_ mayor. Because who would notice one more homeless man off the street? Who cared about the lost teen, down on his luck who clung to his addiction as a support? Who cared about the young widow who found solace in the streets when her husband died at war? 

Society only sees us for what we’ve become, not who we once were or who we can become. They see us as a waste of life, a smudge on their hypocritical views of perfection. But we know the truth.

My eyes catch the gazes of several hidden figures within the crowds. At first my instinct is to run into the closest alley and escape their observation. But when one of the women holds a hand up to her forehead, her palm faced forward as if she was checking her own temperature, I immediately feel a bit at ease. One by one all those who had recognized me had given this strange salute as a small gesture of acknowledgment. My palm tingles around the tattoo that scars my flesh, and I resist the urge to return the gesture. I realize now that they are the Chameleons, the observers of the Syndicate. They are members of the Underground who forged their way into good standing with the Upper Society and remain hidden under the radar. Chameleons are the ones who manage to fight through their poverty and sneak their way into the Middle and Upper Class. Although they are no longer considered threats by Upper Society, they still remember the pain. They still remember what it’s like to sleep in the streets, running from the assassins that hunt us like game. Chameleons are our brothers and sisters who support us from the other side like rays of light to show us the way. They keep an eye on the Upper Society, and monitor their movements. 

Seeing their presence steers my train of thought to Lussuria, their leader. He…was an interesting character...but of all the people to be able to shelter me, he would be the best option. 

I hold up my good hand close to my heart, and give the sign for seven and the letter L. This was a method we as the Syndicate developed to get around using technology between us and the Chameleons. The last thing we wanted was to oust them to the enemy. 

A young woman closest to me who caught my eye shuffled through her bag to find her cellphone, signalling for me to head in her direction with a subtle head tilt. I move around the corner of the brick building into a dark alleyway sink back into the shadows with my back against the wall. It doesn’t take long for Phoenix to follow me in, a hand around his wound and wandering aimlessly. Grabbing hold of his good arm, I pull him towards me. He stumbles forward, in confusion and pain, and he moans in pain when I take hold of his wounded arm to pull his body close to mine. His body cages me in, with his arm up by my head to support his weight against the wall. To any prying eyes, we are nothing more than a young couple in the midst of alcohol induced lust. 

“Wh-what are you—“ 

I press my forehead against his, our noses brushing because of our proximity, and our tired breaths brush against each other, visible like smoke in the cold of the night. I hush him, snaking my hand up his abdomen to grip his shirt and keep him from moving away. “Shh, just listen.” 

Ignoring the cat calls, and screams of approval of those who pass the alleyway and see our silhouette, I listen for the voice of the one woman who could point me in the right direction. Fighting through the noise of my own pulse that thunders in my ears, I hear the clicking of heels against pavement, and suddenly her silhouette blocks the entrance of the alley, a cellphone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. 

“Hey, Babe.” She takes a puff of her lit cigarette, releasing the smoke like a stream high into the air. “Where’s the party tonight? An old friend came back from the dead and is looking for a good time.” She takes another puff. “You’re still at the old lady’s house? Man whore. Listen, just keep the porch light on. Yeah, she’s coming,” she turns her head slightly in our direction, “and I think she’s bringing a new boy toy.” She gives a laugh, it’s heavy, laced with burden. “Yeah, fuck you too. See you later.” 

The young woman snaps her phone shut, taking a few heavy puffs, scanning the crowd outside of the alley before turning to us. “Hey!” At the sound of her call, I can feel Phoenix tense against me. She purses her lips, taking one last drag before crushing the remnants of the stick beneath her polished shoe. “A cab is right over there. Why don’t you get a fucking room?” She scoffs loudly before sauntering over to her friends and continuing with her evening. 

Phoenix is shaking now, the adrenaline no doubt taking a toll on his body. “What the hell are you doing…” 

I give a sigh, and release him from my grip. He’s able to back away from me, to brace himself against the opposite wall. It would be difficult to explain to him here. My mind is fogged with fatigue and it wasn’t safe in the streets, so I settle for taking hold of his hand and leading him back into the street. “I’m covering our trail.” 

He lags behind me, his own fatigue makes him too tired to question me further, though I’m sure he won’t hesitate once we were out of the streets. As we keep moving, the crowds start to thin, most of them staying within reach of the bars and clubs. But as the people trickle away, the view of the cabs come into sight. Their traditional yellow colours are a beacon within the streets, beckoning you forward. 

A smaller, rickety looking cab catches my eye. Its sign is vacant, but barely able to stay lit. Its licence plate is rusted, and the car looks like it had seen better days. A familiar bald head is reflected within the side mirror, and a jolt rushes through me. I turn to Phoenix when he catches up with me. Linking arms with him, I pull him a little faster towards the broken chariot that awaits us. He says nothing but braces against me as me find ourselves before the haggard looking vehicle. I let go of the young interrogator in favor of grasping the door handle. Pulling it open, I usher the man in before following him closely after. 

“Awe man. No! I’m not housing a couple of horny little fuckers again!” The cabbie turns around in his seat with a few curses beneath his breath. But he is cut short when he comes face to face with my palm, and the black ink that is tattooed upon it. His words die on his lips, and he is reduced to gaping like a fish. 

“Hello again, Zopy. It has been a while.” I slam the car door shut, locking it closed and eye the surrounding area to make sure we haven’t been followed. 

“…You…” 

“Turn around and drive.” He takes one last at my palm before doing as I say. “You’re taking us to old mother Hubbard’s house, my friend.” 

At the pluralization, the older bald man eyes Phoenix through his rear-view mirror before glancing at me. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he says in a hushed whisper as if he was speaking a secret. 

“Until Upper-Society figures out I’m still alive, let’s pretend that I am indeed dead.” I hover closely around Zopyros, Careful not to stain his cushions with the blood that stains me. 

Within a couple of minute into the drive, we are out of the downtown area, travelling back on the freeway. It is a path that Zopyros has taken me down many times before. But those times feel far away. It feels like a past life time ago when I last travelled this way.

It isn’t for a while until the older man spoke again. This time he held his eyes straight as he turned us off the ramp and down a dark street. We were getting close to the drop off from what I can tell. “You know, I am truly sorry for what has happened to your division. I heard about the ambush from one of the Chameleons the day it happened. The Underground wept for you that day. You and them. ” He gave a solemn sigh and mumbled some words beneath his breath in a language I didn’t understand. “I am not the one you look for,” he continued, motioning towards my outstretched hand that was aimed towards him. “If that’s what you are worried about. You know I’ve always been loyal to the Underground.”

Shaking my head, I look through the front window. “I doesn’t matter what you say, Zopy. I can’t trust just anyone anymore. There is a traitor in the Underground, and I need to find them before they can do anymore damage.” 

He nodded in agreement, a sad look in his eye. Zopyros was like an uncle to me in this messed up world we lived in. But I was conscious enough to know my nerves and intuition are blinded by my wounds and fatigue. Even if he weren’t the one I was looking for, I doubt I would be able to tell the difference. I won’t be able to differentiate friend from foe in this condition. 

The man pulls into an alley way that is shadowed by the darkness of tree branches. They help to shield us from prying eyes and any cameras that may be in the area. When I pull the door open this time, I see that this area has not changed too much since the last time I travelled here. This is a good sign. It means that the Upper Society has not been here. They do not know of its existence just yet. 

I jump out first once I am sure the way is clear of people or the police. “This way,” I motion to Phoenix. He sits in the back seat quietly, his hand hesitates over his pocket as he eyes Zopyros. When his hand slips beneath the cloth of his pants, I reach out to stop him, worried that he might attack the older male. But he surprises me when he in turn takes out his wallet. 

“I don’t know who you are, but here.” Phoenix offers Zopyros a couple of wrinkled bills with his functioning arm. “A little compensation, for your help…and your silence.” 

Zopyros is conflicted for a bit before he waves the money off. “Keep your money. I can always find money, but you…you have a hard fight before you. You need this more than I do, my friend.”

Phoenix frowns slightly, but pockets the money none the less before he hops out of the vehicle. After closing the door, Zopyros calls for me, and rolls down the passenger window to speak. “Words cannot express how heartbroken I was the day you were captured. You know that when people of the Underground are caught…that is a death sentence. I wept for you. But even though you are here before me now, I want nothing more but to weep again.”

“Zopy—“

“No. You must understand. They will hunt you again. They will not stop until they have broken you for all the Underground to see. You cannot trust anyone, not even the Syndicate.” He gives a pointed look in Phoenix’s way. “Run, my friend. Run, and do not look back.” 

I give a frown. Shaking my head, I step away from the car. “You know I cannot do that, Zapyros. The Underground look to the Syndicate leaders to fight the Upper Society. What message would I send if I just abandoned them?” 

He gave me a frown, but did not argue. “Just…be safe. Do not worry about them finding you. I would die first before I speak of your whereabouts. The Underground will let you know when it is safe to appear once more. Until then, stay hidden.” Zapyros pulls his vehicle forward once more, turning onto the deserted street before disappearing in the forest of houses. 

I turn to Phoenix as he glared at the dimming taillights. I pull at his shirt, motioning towards the backyard fence of a large High Georgian house. “Hurry, the longer we are out here, the more at risk we are from the Upper Society. Especially here.”

Slipping my hand through the break between the wooden planks, I unlock the door and push it open with my body weight. Slipping through the space, the young man follows behind me silently once more. Looking at the familiar white door, I smile slightly. The porch light is on just like requested.

“Where are we?”

I brace myself against the railing as I slowly move up the stairs of the porch. Wincing slightly, I answer his question quietly over my shoulder. “This is old mother Hubbard’s house. We are safe here, for now.” 

I give a soft rapt on the door, and step back as a presence makes itself known on the other side. The door opens to reveal a middle aged Italian man. His chestnut hair falls to his shoulders and his jawline is decorated with stubble. A grave smile festers on his face when he sees that it’s me. 

“Ira,” he says. His voice is rough with withheld emotion as he rushes towards me and gives me a tight hug. 

“Lussuria…”

When he lets me go, he recognizes Phoenix’s appearance. “And Ira’s friend. Come, let us talk inside. It is not safe for you out here.”

And when the white door closes behind us, I can finally breathe easier knowing that we are in good company. I cannot help it when the darkness over takes me. The fatigue finally takes its hold over my body and casts me into a deep slumber.


	7. Act 1: Scene 7- Talking with Ira

The next time my eyes are open, I am no longer in a bleak interrogation cell like I remember. Instead, I lay upon a familiar stiff bed with a light blanket draped over me. There is daylight pouring in through the sheer curtains of the windows, illuminating the room in a surreal way. If my body didn’t ache as much as it did, my best guess would have been that I had finally passed on during an interrogation session gone wrong.

My mind is drained, fogged by heavy slumber. My body fares no better and is weighed down by a familiar encumbrance. This almost catatonic state is always brought upon me through excessive use of my body’s energy. The strain from pushing my muscles to their limit must have affected my body more severely than I had first anticipated.

Staring blankly at the white ceiling above me, I can’t help but wonder what I had done to find myself here again. The last time this happened, I had had my first encounter with an Archangel. Closing my eyes to ease the stinging sensation, I give a sigh. My mind and body only want rest but something intangible keeps me awake. 

Instead of focusing on the irritation I feel for being awake prematurely, I focus on the sun that warms my body. It cascades through the sheer curtains, coming to rest on the sheets that cover me. It is a stark difference from the cold that chills my bones. The warmth is the only thing that brings me comfort in this room. This room, as bright and inviting as it is, only brings back tormented memories of pain and suffering. 

The sound of the door clicking open brings me from my thoughts, and a thrush of new air fills the room. Turning to glance at the new presence in the room, I recognized the lithe shadow to belong to that of Lussuria. He is illuminated with golden rays as he steps into the sunlight, his hair and eyes twinkling as he moves. I give a small hum in an attempt to greet him, but it only comes out as a strained, garbled mess. 

He can’t help but give small sigh, expressing his aggravation and relief all at once. He makes his way over to my bedside, a small canister in his hands. “You’re awake. That’s good. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to this time around.” He takes a seat next to me on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. He rests his hand on my shoulder when he sees me try to turn towards him. “You shouldn’t move, Minette. You know what happens when you try.”

Lussuria brought one of my hands into his own, frowning at the feeling. He was amazingly warm to the touch, and I would have curled around him if I could. The heat he was radiating was magic against my icy skin. 

“You’re cold again,” he’s clearly upset. “That Blessing of yours always takes so much out of you.” He opens the canister, and a thick medicinal smell permeates the air. He take a dollop between his fingers, warming the ointment first before working it into my skin. Beginning with my left hand, he works his way up to my shoulder, rubbing deeply into my tense muscles. I groan when he hits a tightly wound bundle of nerves, whimpering from the uncomfortable feeling of his knuckles pressing so hard. He offers me a sympathetic look, easing off slightly, but continuing with his work none the less. 

It is silent for a while, save for some of the sighs that escape me. Lussuria concentrates on loosening my muscles, and I on the pain that he releases as he does so. It takes all my power not to gag as my stomach winds around itself when Luss presses against another sore area. 

“Look how much weight you’ve lost. You’re all skin and bones.” He hits another sore spot, testing my strength again. “How did you make it out alive?” he mumbles beneath his breath. When Lussuria reaches a sore spot in my right bicep, I force myself away from him and scramble for the edge of the bed. My body’s had enough. I wretch nothing but bile onto the wooden floor, and dry heave when nothing is left. Luss is right there, rubbing my back, pulling my hair back in case I feel the urge to do it again. My throat is raw from the acid, the bitter taste lingering far too long in my mouth for my liking. 

I wipe my face using the bottom of my shirt before falling against the edge of the bed in exhaustion. Sweat breaks out over my exposed skin, leaving me hot and cold at the same time. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Minette. You should have escaped while you could. Why come back to a war that almost killed you the first time? Just look at what that little Archangel has done to your shoulder. You’ve done your part…rest now.” 

Something inside me sickens at the thought of leaving them all alone, the dysfunctional family hidden within the shadows. This is the only life I’ve known, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself even if I ran. 

“No,” I shake my head, careful not to sicken myself with vertigo. “I started this with all of you, and I can finish it too. What do you think will happen if word gets out that a leader of the S7 ran away from this fight? The repercussions would be greater than if Upper-Society had actually killed me when they had the chance. You know that.” I look at the older man with a heavy gaze. “I need to be here.” 

He eyes me, meeting my gaze with his own before inspecting the condition with my body. He waits silently for me to falter, the tension ebbing its way between the two of us, settling stagnant in the air. He is testing me. I know that much for sure, and had he done this to me nine months ago I probably would have succumbed early on. I had been defeated back then, the extinction of my division in one fell swoop broke my very understanding of what I thought my purpose was. 

I push myself up to sit on the bed like I normally would. My body screams at me to stop, but there is nothing I can do. Lussuria wants proof that I will not fall, and I will show him what I am still capable of. I have been gone for far too long, that is clear. For Lussuria to doubt me so easily, I must not look up to the task. However, my physical appearance means little to me at the moment. There is a fervour blazing deep within me that I haven’t felt in years, kindled by a single Innocent I had met in the most unlikely of places. That is all the strength I need to keep me going for now. 

We are at a stalemate like this for several minutes, not speaking and seldomly blinking. I lift my chin higher into the air and do not back down when Lussuria sends a colder gaze my way. My purpose is here, I am sure of that now. Even Lussuria’s interrogating eye cannot sway me.

It is Lussuria to give in first, just as I am sure my back is about to give out. He curses softly in his native tongue, pressing against my shoulder to make me lay back. 

“Okay, okay, I understand. Don’t kill yourself trying to prove your point.” He heaves another heavy sigh, one to add to the many he has expelled within the small amount of time he has been here. “Now rest. If you want to return to top condition, you are going to need it.” 

I do go reluctantly, wondering whether or not this is another one of his tests. He insists, though, and I’m unable to argue with him. He is back to his nurturing self, slipping the covers off me to expose my legs, the next appendages to meet his intense kneading. He starts the process again, warming the ointment between his hands and applying them to my cold flesh. 

“So then what of the stray? I assume there was no plan when you brought him this far.” 

Quirking a brow, I send a curious glance his way, but it is quickly replaced by a pained expression. Who was he—? Oh, I see. He was speaking of the man I met at the prison, Phoenix. 

“An Innocent, hmm? It is unheard of for stray Innocents to be wandering through the penalty system this late into the year. That place is a black hole for any type of innocence to be stripped away. How curious you met him there.” Lussuria hums in thought as he presses his knuckles into my calf. It’s not nearly as painful as I thought it would be, but he’s not as gentle as I would like. “The boy is not as troubling as you are with his wounds. Even though he has some holes in him, he rested well and is healing quite quickly. Amazing, really. But he is growing impatient with the lack of answers. I said it would be best to wait until you were awake, and feeling well enough before we would answer his questions.”

Lussuria hits a sore spot in my thigh and I cry out in pain, unable to hold it back. The muscles are torn horribly, sending fire up to my hip. I all but scream when he presses his fingers deeper, the cold sweat returning. He has done this many times before, nursing my muscles back to health. If he did not rework the muscles, they would not heal properly, but the thought does little to ease the pain—

“AUGH!” 

Lussuria shushes me, still relentless in his work. “This looks like the work of improper building. You know that more damage happens when you don’t build your energy enough. Now look at you.” 

A hiss comes through my clenching teeth and I glare at the man. “I-It was— Ugh!—an e-emergency…She was going t-to k-kill him.” 

Lussuria purses his lips, but doesn’t argue. He knows there is nothing he can do now but work me into health like all the times before. A light flickers in his caramel coloured eyes, and he smiles. Backing away, he crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a knowing look. “It was him then, was it? He was the reason you fought so hard. That Innocent woke you up, did he?” Lussuria shook his head, his wavy tendrils swaying with it. “What am I saying? Of course he did. You’re not one to fight for yourself.” 

I frown at him, unhappy with the look he gives me. The all-knowing look Lussuria gives is as unnerving to me as the ones the Archangels give every so often. He’s adept at figuring people out, after all it is one of the benefits he’s adapted from his Blessing, but he never says just what it is he’s figured out. He keeps these secrets to himself to manipulate later should he need them. Perhaps that’s why this look bothers me so much. You never knew what secret Lussuria knew until it was already too late…

“You shouldn’t get so attached, though. He may not side with us, you know. What would happen if he chose Upper-Society, hmm? He is from there after all. It would only be logical.” 

“You are from there too, Luss. Don’t forget.”

“Yes, but that is different, Minette. _We_ are different. He may not think like we do, that is all I’m saying.” 

Three steady knocks cut through our conversation. We share a look and turn towards the door. 

“Ah, looks like we shall find out soon enough.”


End file.
